


Orphans, Kingdoms: ACT II. Homeland

by DetectiveRoboRyan



Series: Orphans, Kingdoms [3]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Shin Ankoku Ryuu to Hikari no Ken | Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon
Genre: Belligerent Sexual Tension, Canon Divergence, Child Soldiers, Diplomacy, Dragons, Drama, F/F, F/M, Family, Friendship, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Magic Swords, Minor Character Death, Multi, My Name is Ryan and in My Spare Time I Write Novels, Politics, Romance, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, War, Zombies, longfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:42:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21737782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DetectiveRoboRyan/pseuds/DetectiveRoboRyan
Summary: With Archanea back under Princess Nyna's rule, the newly formed Archanean League sets its sights on its next target: Gra, and from there, Altea. Elice is a little apprehensive about going home again, but it's what she's been waiting for for over two years-- she's not going to back down now.However, Gra has a sizeable problem of its own to deal with. King Jiol has ventured into a forest of spirits in search of a relic for the Empire, and in doing so, released a fog of undead across the island. Fearing for not just her father, but her people, Princess Sheena of Gra proposes a truce: if the Archanean League helps save the island from this disaster, then she's willing to ally with them against the Empire. And so, Elice and her allies venture into the Forest of Iora to save Gra's people and, with any luck, make a new ally in the process.
Relationships: Ellis | Elice & Caeda, Ellis | Elice & Hardin, Ellis | Elice & Ogma, Ellis | Elice/Niena | Nyna, Katua | Catria/Sheeda | Caeda, Minerva/Paora | Palla, Nyna/Camus (Past), Ogma & Sheeda | Caeda
Series: Orphans, Kingdoms [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566676
Comments: 13
Kudos: 30





	1. XXI. A New Journey

**Author's Note:**

> this is probably a better format than one giant fic, huh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nyna stood, resting her hands decisively on the war map, all worn crease lines and rolling corners from the long march there. “I’ve recieved a report from Tomas on the state of the Empire,” she said. “They’re not moving to retake any of Archanea, but they’ve redoubled their efforts to maintain control of their remaining territory— namely, the Artemis Sea. Skirmishes have calmed. I believe they’re waiting for us to make the first move.”_
> 
> _Elice pictured Quintus, fingers laced, smiling smugly at her over a chessboard, and had the undeniable urge to punch him._
> 
> The Archanean League decides their next move.

It was autumn in Archanea, and the wheat fields were glowing golden against the wide blue skies. War aside, it’d been a good harvest season, and farmers in the market square in Pales showed off the literal fruits of their labor. More people trickled in every day— Archanean refugees returning home, Alteans flocking to where their princess was, Macedonian deserters more loyal to Minerva than her brother. 

Their allied army grew larger and stronger with every soldier that pledged their sword, both old and new. Elice had been a little worried about her people being able to find places within the Archanean army— Archanea’s military, even damaged, was bigger than Altea’s had ever been. It made sense, since Archanea was a far bigger (and wealthier) country, but the remainder of the Archanean military welcomed them in, and they were quick to find places where they’d be the most help. 

Jagen, veteran commander and trainer that he was, had his hands full— so full that he pressed Cain and Abel into service helping him train recruits. They took to it with varying degrees of excitement, with Cain, as he often did, proudly flinging himself into it and jumping on every opportunity to preach to the recruits about chivalry and loyalty. Abel, meanwhile, earned the title “Lieutenant Softie.” They slotted in nicely alongside Hardin and the Wolfguard, though the latter were very insistent that they were loyal to Hardin first and were not actually a part of the Archanean army. Nyna suspected that the high spirits among the Archaneans were in part because of her knights’ return— Midia, especially, was a leader and role model to many of the soldiers (and upon seeing her fight for real, armed and armored and on horseback, Elice wasn’t surprised). 

Archanea’s infantry, unlike its cavalry, aerial, and armored divisions, was admittedly lacking. Most of their ground forces had been mercenaries, and those that hadn’t died or been bought over to the Empire’s side were a ragged, stubborn handful. Those few left were only barely hanging on, especially since (from what Ogma told her after a few days with them) their leader, a hero named Astram, had been taken prisoner by Grustian forces just a few months previous (and they were very adamant that he was too valuable to kill). Elice soon found out that Nyna knew the man well (because of course she did). There was no telling if they’d be able to find him, especially since Grust was so far away, but Nyna was insistent. 

Along with the infantry and cavalry came the mages and the medics. The city’s magic school, whose enrollment rate had slowed to a trickle when the war began, suddenly found itself overflowing with trainees needing a space to practice where explosions were a completely acceptable part of the learning process. Compensating the school for this took a chunk out of the royal treasury, but it was a necessary cost, if only for the property damage a few hundred novice mages were sure to cause. If nothing else, Elice guessed that the renown the school would get for having trained the Archanean League’s army could only boost enrollment rates once the war was over for good. 

Archanea had always been well-known for its fliers— Talys and Macedon both had reputations for the same thing, but they didn’t have the long history with the art that Archanea did. Between them and the fraction of Whitewings that’d left Macedon, though, the League wasn't lacking for fliers. Skylark didn’t broadcast it, but she was obviously happy to be back among her fellow Whitewings, and it was easy to tell from her change in attitude. She still traded barbs with Caeda and wasn’t shy about telling someone when they were bothering her, but it was obvious that she was extremely proud of being a Whitewing, and took her job seriously. Minerva, likewise, was obviously happier being in charge of her unit again, and from what Elice had seen, the sentiment was mutual. No one seemed particularly fond of Michalis, though the amount of soldiers that’d left Macedon meant that those still there were the ones who were either loyal to Michalis or afraid of him. Elice figured they’d cross that bridge when they got to it.

Morale was high. The victory in reclaiming Pales and putting Nyna back on the throne had renewed the people’s faith in their leadership, and the combined efforts of the Aurelian and Archanean armies as well as Macedonian deserters and Altean volunteers had made sure it was earned. As the summer had given way to fall, skirmishes with the remnants of the Empire’s forces dwindled until the Empire pulled back entirely, retreating back across the sea to Dolhr and Gra. The marquesses of Samsooth and Adria were subdued, tried, and imprisoned for their treachery against the crown. The question of who was going to run the places in the long term, a decision that Nyna would prefer to deal with individually and with the input of the remaining people of said marches, needed more time than they had to give to it, so Nyna had to settle for appointing generals in their places. She didn’t like this— Nyna had never liked leaving a job half-done— but it’d have to do.

So the rest of the summer passed by, and things settled down into something of a new normal— a temporary new normal, but a new normal nonetheless. Elice spent much of the time training, and at Malledeus’s suggestion, spent that time training with different people, learning different skills. Elice agreed, but mostly because if she spent all her time practicing one thing, she’d probably go crazy. The trade-off was that she felt a different kind of sore every night. 

Strategy meetings, for once, were a welcome break. It was a whole different beast, strategizing with a real army rather than a small group, but Elice, being Elice, wasn’t about to admit defeat. 

Nyna stood, resting her hands decisively on the war map, all worn crease lines and rolling corners from the long march there. “I’ve recieved a report from Tomas on the state of the Empire,” she said. “They’re not moving to retake any of Archanea, but they’ve redoubled their efforts to maintain control of their remaining territory— namely, the Artemis Sea. Skirmishes have calmed. I believe they’re waiting for us to make the first move.”

Elice pictured Quintus, fingers laced, smiling smugly at her over a chessboard, and had the undeniable urge to punch him. “If they’re bolstering their forces to protect the Artemis Sea, that means they’ve mobilized their navies. I’d expect mostly Gra ships, in that case, since Altea and Gra are more familiar with the area.”

“Then it sounds to me, your collective highnesses,” Jagen said. “That the time has come to push to retake Altea.”

_Altea_. Elice felt her heart beat faster. Getting Altea back had been all she wanted until she found out that Marth was alive. Marth was her priority, and he always would be— and she still meant, wholeheartedly, what she’d said when she’d let Altea fall if it meant she brought Marth home safely. But with a clearer head, she knew that that was only if she had to choose. She shouldn’t pick one or the other until it was clear she couldn’t have both. 

“Gra and Altea have always worked together closely,” Malledeus spoke up. “We will need to break Gra’s hold if we’re to retake Altea, but I believe it’d be ill-advised to attempt a conquest. King Jiol is beyond diplomacy, but I understand his daughter, Princess Sheena, may be more willing to listen to reason— especially if you’re to talk to her, Princes Elice.”

“I’m not going to spare King Jiol,” Elice said firmly. “If that bastard hadn’t betrayed Altea, then we wouldn’t even be here. I’ll try to talk to Sheena, but I’m not sure how well that’ll go, seeing as I’m planning to kill her father.”

“Malledeus is right,” Hardin said. “It’s a chance we have to take.” 

“Well, what could possibly go wrong?” Elice sighed. “I get my face bashed in by a fourth more competent woman? Sounds like fun.”

Caeda frowned. “Fourth? I know there was Minerva, but I don’t think bashing your face in twice counts double.”

“No, Minerva’s one,” Elice clarified. Minerva, who hadn’t seen cause to say anything the whole meeting, turned pink and mumbled an apology. “I also lost rather impressively to Midia, and I’m counting falling off the chariot as another one because Linde was the one who knocked me off, so.”

“I recall you losing to me quite a few times,” Nyna brought up. 

“Ah, but you didn’t break my nose or give me a concussion, so it doesn’t count.”

Hardin cleared his throat. “Moving right along,” he said. “Princess Nyna, what’s the status of the Archanean Navy?” 

“Better than it was,” Nyna admitted. “Still nowhere near enough to match the Empire’s forces, though. But if we also make use of Archanea’s pegasus knights and the Macedonian Whitewing order, then we may have the edge in the air.”

“I would advise caution deploying the fliers, your highness,” Minerva spoke up. “My brother knows well of the Archanean Doves, and now that I’m here, he’ll likely waste no time developing technology to counteract our aerial strategies. He has always held a fondness for war machines.” 

“Duly noted,” Nyna said. “And am I correct in assuming that the Whitewings we’ve recieved are likely all that’ll come?”

“In all likelihood, yes,” Minerva agreed. “Macedon does not look kindly on deserters. I imagine anyone attempting to join us now will not meet a kind fate.”

“Well, a few is better than none,” Elice admitted. 

“We might find more Whitewings overseas,” Caeda spoke up. “Catria told me that the order was dissolved, and all the members scattered across Empire territory. I imagine if they see you, Minerva, they’ll take the opportunity.”

Minerva smiled forlornly. “One can hope.”

“Is there anyone specifically that we might look for?” Nyna asked. “I can send word to Tomas to be on the lookout.” 

“Well, I suppose,” Minerva admitted. “This is less for me and more for Catria, but she has two sisters, an elder and a younger. The elder, Palla, is my lieutenant, and has been since I formed the Whitewing order. She is a skilled leader and a respected warrior, and has proven herself indispensable to both me and Macedon. The younger…” Minerva hesitated. “Est is still hardly more than a child. I brought her into the Whitewing order so her sisters could better make sure she’s safe.”

“Do you have some idea of where they may be?” Nyna asked. 

Minerva shook her head. “When my brother dissolved the order, needless to say, I was not privy to where he sent everyone.”

“We’ll keep an eye out,” Elice promised. Minerva gave her a little smile, looking like some fraction of the weight, however small, had been lifted from her shoulders. 

“What I’m wondering,” Hardin mused. “Is why, exactly, Gra insisted upon occupying Altea. It’s a small country, and it’s never exactly been known for its military might. Occupying another country its same size likely has them spread thin overland, not to mention using their naval forces to assist in keeping the Empire’s hold on the sea.”

“I have a hunch,” Malledeus brought up. “Though perhaps Princess Elice would like to field this one?”

“Falchion, right?” Elice guessed. “Of course. That makes sense.”

Hardin frowned. “Explain?” 

“You know Anri, right?” Elice said. “Altean farm boy, sheltered Empress Artemis, helped Iote found Macedon, all that? According to the version of the story Marth and I were always told, Anri and his brother found this sword that was supposedly the lost Archanean Falchion, made from one of Naga’s fangs— everyone knows that story, right— Anyway, it was his signature sword, used to defeat Emperor Medeus. The old Emperor Medeus, I mean. What was his name? Caesar?”

“Caeso,” Nyna corrected under her breath. 

“Right, him. So, gods only know if it actually was forged from one of Naga’s fangs, but it was the sword he had by his side for basically the entire war.” Elice shrugged. “So when the war ended and Altea became an independent country, Falchion became a big important symbol, and it’s since been customary for rulers of Altea to carry it, including my father.”

“Let me make sure I’m hearing this right,” Caeda said. “So, the whole reason Gra and Altea are separate… is because of a dead guy’s sword.”

“No— well, yes? Kind of.” Elice waved a hand. “Anri died heirless, so his brother Marcellus became the second king of Altea. But at the same time, this guy Luther claimed to be Anri’s son— Anri never married for his entire life, and Luther would’ve been born before the War of Liberation when Anri was just another nobody, so he got a lot of supporters who thought he should be the king. You know, typical succession crisis stuff. There was a lot of investigating, but it never got anywhere, since his mom died, and it’s not like fifth century Altean farmers kept a lot of records. There was a lot of conflict, so in the end he and his supporters split off and formed Gra.

“Of course, after Luther and Marcellus both died, everyone realized it wasn’t helping anyone to keep hating each other. So we became allies, and that went just fine until Jiol fucked it up.” Elice looked over at Malledeus, leaning back in her chair. “How’d I do?”

“Splendidly, your highness,” Malledeus decided. “So you see, if Gra finds the Falchion, he could use it to give legitimacy to Luther’s claim.”

Nyna frowned. “I’m not sure I’m following. Is this sword somehow only able to be wielded by Anri’s bloodline?” 

Elice shrugged. “It’s only ever been wielded by Anri’s relatives, but there’s no proof that it’s not.” 

“So, let me guess,” Hardin said. “Gra has it now.” 

“Probably.”

“You don’t seem too fussed about the man who killed your father now possessing his sword,” Nyna commented.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, it’s not _good_ ,” Elice replied. “But I can only be so upset about so many things. Gotta pick your battles. But since we’re going to march on Gra next, we can get it back, no sweat. Right?” 

“While, ordinarily, I would chastise you for being so lackadaisical about the whole thing,” Malledeus said. “You’re right. Going after Gra next would be the most strategic move, even more so since we can assume King Jiol is currently wielding Falchion. The Alteans need a concrete symbol to look to now more than ever, and what better symbol than their rightful ruler wielding their legendary sword?” 

“Then it’s settled,” Elice decided. “We’ll prepare to march, and leave as soon as we’re ready. I think it’s high time we pay King Jiol a visit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next- _XXII. To the West_


	2. XXII. To the West

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Elice hummed uneasily. “I guess we just need to keep on course,” she said. “As long as the Helmsman’s careful, we’ll be fine.”_
> 
> _“And as long as we don’t run into those Gra ships, right?” Caeda asked, leaning on the railing._
> 
> _“Yeah, naturally.” Elice felt dread run cold down her spine. “Wait, what Gra ships?”_
> 
> _Caeda pointed. Elice spotted red sails on a fleet of ships emerging from the fog, coming closer too directly for it to be an accident._
> 
> _“Ah, those Gra ships,” Elice nodded. “Well, shit.”_
> 
> The first battle for Gra comes with an unexpected surprise.

The Leauge set off early, bidding Archanea goodbye as the sky in the east started to grow red. Elice hadn’t slept especially well, but she wasn’t tired. She was too busy to be tired. 

She squinted at her compass in the low lamplight. The lanterns swung as the ship swayed, jostled by the waves and the wind. The weather was fair thus far, with a northwest wind that’d suit them well for travel, but she knew the sea too well to be complacent. The Artemis Sea was hardly the broad, open ocean, but it would be foolish to assume it’d be smooth sailing (no pun intended) just because there was land on the horizon. 

“About one-forty nautical miles out,” Elice mumbled, picking up her spyglass and looking back towards Archanea. “Helmsman?” 

“Aye?” 

“Begin the turn,” she called. She’d already forgotten the poor man’s name. “We want a bearing of two-ninety degrees north.” 

The helmsman nodded, turning back to the wheel. 

“I thought we were supposed to be going west,” Caeda spoke up, a frown creasing her features. She stood next to Elice on the deck, looking over the same map where Elice had plotted out their course. 

“We are, roughly,” Elice replied. “It’s all about how far clockwise from true north you are.” 

Caeda groaned, hanging her head. “Why is there all this _math_ involved? Dad made it look easy!”

Elice patted her shoulder. “I hate to break it to you, but basically everything you can think of involves math.” 

Caeda looked dismayed. _“What?”_

Hardin hummed, looking at the map and at Elice’s myriad of notes. “I’m going to be honest, here,” he said. “This is mystifying.” She hadn’t noticed him until he spoke. He’d kept his thick cloak, but in contrast to when Elice had first met him, he’d added a layer of black plate armor underneath. But in the interest of presenting a united front, Hardin had his cloak pinned with a clasp of polished Archanean brass. A similar wardrobe upgrade had been necessary for everyone, either to get rid of enemy colors or just to get uniforms better suited for another long march. Minerva was particularly notable— her bright red armor was a bright, glaring symbol of Macedon, and there was always a risk of an allied soldier making an adrenaline-fueled mistake in the heat of battle and trying to shoot her down, which could cause a lot of confusion, not to mention put unnecessary stress on the relationship between the League and the Whitewings. But it was perfectly good armor (not to mention expensive, with how much tailoring had to be done), so it seemed like such a waste to just get rid of it. The compromise they’d come to was that they’d had it tinted black to cover up the red, making it harder to mistake her for an enemy. It had the added effect of making her easier to spot among the primarily white armor of most pegasus knights, and the filigree matched the gold for the Whitewings while distinguishing her from the green of the Archanean Doves, while also looking fantastic.

“Oh, come on, it’s just a map,” Elice protested. “Are you trying to tell me that _Hardin Vontague,_ prince of the Polaris Mountains, doesn’t know how to read a map?”

Hardin shook his finger as if stirring up the air will transmit his exact thoughts to Elice. “No, I know _maps_. I’m not a cartographer by any means, but I can navigate a mountain range with a few landmarks and a spyglass. _This_ —“ he gestured to the map— “is beyond me. I have never had to use a map that involved this many triangles.”

Elice snorted. “Well, then, if you think _this_ is impressive, you should’ve seen this one time when I was Caeda’s age. My dad took me on a voyage south of Macedon, sailed us into the middle of nowhere, and made me navigate our way back. This? This is child’s play.” 

Caeda looked alarmed. “You’re not gonna make _me_ do that, right?” 

“I can’t make you do shit,” Elice replied. “I’m not your teacher.” 

“Why _don’t_ you know how to do this, out of curiosity, Caeda?” Hardin asked. “Talys is an island surrounded by miles of empty ocean. I would think that, as the heir, you’d know even better how to navigate at sea.” 

“Knowing Mostyn?” Elice snorted. “He wouldn’t dare do anything that could put a frown on his precious little pearl’s face.” 

“He told me I’d learn it when I was older,” Caeda answered. “So there’s the _real_ answer.” 

Hardin looked amused. “Certainly.” 

The hours passed, Archanea’s western coast slowly drifting by on the horizon. The Archanean fleet cut a path through the waves, which stayed fairly calm for most of the morning. A few clouds gathered on the horizons, but they were distant and quiet, and thus didn’t get in the way when Elice noted the sun’s location in the mid-morning, and then jotted it down in her notebook. Elice was on the flagship, which took the lead, flags waving from the masts for the rest of the fleet to see. The water was dark and deep, reflecting the blue of the sky. The fleet cut a wake in the waves, sending foam curling out and falling back down. The wood creaked, but it was as much a part of the music of sea travel as the waves themselves. Elice was too far up and the water too choppy for her to see her own reflection as she leaned over the rail, but she did anyway, imagining the forlorn look on her face— crooked nose, notched lip, and all. If it were only one ship, and if there weren’t an army of fliers following their course, Elice could almost make herself belive it was just another trip along the coastline with her father. 

She tried not to do that too much. It probably wasn’t strictly necessary to plot backup courses in the case of a sudden storm, but it kept her busy, and if she was busy, she didn’t waste time staring at the water and feeling sorry for herself. It was strange— she’d never liked doing all this math when she was younger, but she found something soothing about it as an adult. Maybe it was the familiarity, the reminder of a simpler time, which felt odd to think, but it was true. Elice’s biggest problems when she was learning this stuff was that she was angry, hot-tempered, and tired of trying to be something she wasn’t but still didn’t know what she was. It was very real to her at the time, and Elice knew better than to belittle her past self’s problems, but at least her past self didn’t have to think about military tactics and diplomacy. 

Lunchtime had come and gone. Elice made herself eat something and considered it an accomplishment, then excused herself to the office belowdecks. When she noticed Nyna standing beside her, leaning a little over the navigator’s desk, she didn’t look up or stop the motion of her pencil. Beside her, the Brazier sat on the desk, unbelted, to give her arm a break. “Something I can help you with, your highness?” 

“Nothing significant,” Nyna said— claimed. She moved back, fiddling with the cuffs of her jacket (it’d been mended, but the color would never be the same). “I suppose I just… wanted to see what you were up to.” 

“Same thing I’ve been up to for the past four hours, Princess Nyna,” Elice chuckled dryly. “Circles and triangles.” 

“Ah.” She nodded. “Yes, I was noticing that. I heard Helmsman Danes mention that you’re as fine a navigator as any admiral he’s served under.” 

Ah, that was his name. “Well, pass along my thanks.” 

Nyna hummed agreement. She didn’t leave. Elice could half-guess what she was really here for, but didn’t want to flatter herself. She’d crack a joke about it anyway.

“Lemme guess,” Elice said, setting her pencil down and slinging her arm over the back of her chair, pulling out the cocky half-grin. “You’re worried about me.”

Nyna’s ears turned red. “And what of it?” she demanded. Elice almost snapped her pencil in half in surprise. “Is it so wrong to check in with a friend?” 

“You consider me a friend?” Elice repeated. “You’re _calling_ me your friend? Who are you, and what have you done with Nyna?”

“Don’t push it,” she muttered. 

“Ah, there she is.”

“If you’re going to make fun of me for caring about you, then I’ll take my leave,” Nyna said sharply. “Since you _clearly_ don’t want to take seriously what I have to say to you.”

Elice chuckled. “Sorry. Been a long day, I had to tease you at least a little bit. So what can your humble Champion do for you?” 

“Well,” Nyna managed. “I… wanted to ask if you’re… doing alright. It isn’t like you to sit alone with your thoughts like this, doing math that you don’t even need to be doing.” 

“You were worried about me,” Elice repeated. 

“Yes.” Nyna nodded. “Yes, I am. Think what you will of me, Princess Elice, but I do consider you a friend, and as your friend, I will listen, if sharing your worries will help you feel better.” 

Elice considered cracking another joke, but thought better of it. “Thinking about Gra, I suppose,” she said. “Gra and Altea have been friends for as long as I’ve been alive. I’ve known Princess Sheena since I could walk. Jiol and my father drank together whenever they met up and— and I’m supposed to walk in and kill him, like the alliance we had never even mattered.” She shook her head. “I know Jiol betrayed us first, and I hate him for it, more than I’ve hated anyone else. What’s left of Altea hates him, wants him dead. When we march into Gra and face Jiol on the battlefield, it’ll be personal.” 

Nyna was quiet. Elice shook her head, pushing her bangs back from her face. “But I’m not Altea. I hate Jiol for what he did, but I don’t want the whole country to suffer. I don’t want Sheena to suffer.” 

Nyna hummed softly. “I understand,” she said. Elice knew she did. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s an awful thing to understand.”

“It is,” Nyna agreed. 

They sat in silence for a bit. Elice felt a little better, having said it out loud. 

The ship lurched and groaned. Nyna looked up, clearly concerned. “What was that?” 

Elice looked at the map. “Ah, right,” she remembered. “The sea gets shallower here. They say that when we hit another ice age, the whole sea will dry up, and that’s how we get people walking to the island.” 

“Oh,” Nyna nodded. “So it’s nothing to worry about?”

“Doubt it,” Elice said. “I’m gonna go upstairs and make sure, though.” 

Hardin was standing on the deck. Elice noticed something wrong immediately— a fog had rolled in, so thick Elice could barely see the waves below. The ship had slowed, proceeding cautiously while the crew hurried to put up the lanterns.

“When in the world did that happen?” Elice asked. “Was that fog always here?”

“It came on suddenly,” Hardin replied. “Too suddenly. I know the weather changes quickly at sea, but we’re really not that far from land. I’d think we’d have a little more warning.” 

Elice hummed uneasily. “I guess we just need to keep on course,” she said. “As long as the Helmsman’s careful, we’ll be fine.”

“And as long as we don’t run into those Gra ships, right?” Caeda asked, leaning on the railing. 

“Yeah, naturally.” Elice felt dread run cold down her spine. “Wait, _what_ Gra ships?”

Caeda pointed. Elice spotted red sails on a fleet of ships emerging from the fog, coming closer too directly for it to be an accident. 

“Ah, _those_ Gra ships,” Elice nodded. “Well, shit.” 

Alarm bells started clanging. Hardin jumped into action. “I’ll signal to the rest of the front squadron,” he decided. “If we have the advantage in numbers, we should be able to overwhelm them.” 

“We can sure try,” Elice said. “Gra’s ships tend to be heavy, with lots of firepower.” 

“I’ll rally the fliers,” Princess Minerva suggested, swinging herself up into the saddle of her massive wyvern. A round mirrored lantern hung from three points on the underside of her wyvern’s gear, similar to the smaller one worn just above her visor. 

“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you to be careful,” Elice said. “Caeda, maybe you should stay behind. There’s no use scouting in weather like this.” 

“Fine,” Caeda grumbled. Minerva took off, disappearing into the fog until Elice could only barely see the lanterns, followed by a flock of wyverns and pegasi in perfect formation. 

Hardin turned back to Elice. “What do you know about naval battle strategy, out of curiosity?” he asked.

Elice rubbed the back of her neck. “Enough to pass an exam, I guess. But you know I’m not actually an expert on all things maritime, right? Just because I can navigate a ship doesn’t mean I’m a qualified admiral.” 

“I mean, I would think…” Hardin admitted.

She patted his shoulder. “If Gra had put off betraying Altea another five or six years, then maybe I’d have enough experience,” she said. “But as it stands? You’re gonna have to have some faith in Archanea’s navy.” 

A horn rang out from over the water. The Gra ships were coming closer. A series of tiny lights lit up along their sides. Elice had a second to mentally remark on what a pretty image it was before the barrage of flaming arrows came flying towards the ship. 

The ship swerved. Elice clung to the rail as troops on pegasi and wyverns took off from the other ships. Someone raised the battle flags on the flagship’s mast, and the admiral shouted an order for the archers to return fire. 

Arrows flew from the deck. Gra’s warships came to meet them halfway, the ships circling each other amidst the waves. Their fleet wasn’t as numerous as the Archanean fleet, but their ships were heavier, and if Elice knew Gra warships, they were probably full of artillery. The Whitewings and the Doves took the fight to them, clashing in midair with Gra’s aerial troops while the ships prepared another volley of arrows. The fog had them at a disadvantage— it was like the Gra ships didn’t even see it.

Elice ducked, clinging to the railing as more arrows arced through the air and splintered on deck, embedding in the wood and clanging off shields. The biggest ship had cut them off from the rest of the line, aiming to bring them down first. The admiral yelled to brace. Volleys of crossbow bolts slammed into the hull like rain on cobblestone. 

“Aw, man,” Elice groaned, looking at the ship. “They’ve got a Macedonian Dreadnought!” 

Hardin followed her gaze. The Dreadnought was clearly brand-new and all Macedonian construction, even if she was flying Gra sails. She was a floating titan, sitting low and broad— slow and cumbersome, but tougher than your average galleon. Elice would’ve stopped to admire her if they weren’t in the middle of a battle. 

“This is a setback,” Hardin admitted. “But even big ships can be sunk, right?” 

“Oh, sure,” Elice replied. “The issue is staying afloat yourself.” 

The archers fired again, followed by a combined gust of wind from the mages. The Dreadnought lurched, but it wouldn’t be that easy to blow her over. Flaming arrows from the Dreadnought soared overhead, overshooting the arc by just enough to miss. Elice spotted lanterns from enemy wyverns and pegasi coming up to intercept the Doves and Whitewings. She could only hope it was going well. 

On the flagship, the mages pulled back, slowly building up a wave of fire that they launched towards the Dreadnought with enough force that the flagship drifted back. The fliers scattered, rising up on the wave of heat. The Dreadnought’s sails caught fire. On the other side, another Archanean ship rammed them, wood smashing and splintering. The whole ship cheered. 

“They felt that!” Hardin decided, waving his hand in victory. “Hold on—“ 

Joy turned to horror when the Dreadnought didn’t even flinch. They loomed closer, closer— close enough that Elice could see the torches on deck. She squinted through the fog, clinging to the railing. 

“Wait a minute,” Hardin realized. “Those sailors…”

Elice had heard of monsters. Everyone did— everyone heard scary stories around the campfire of demons and vampires and werewolves, of possessed humans and hauntings and creatures for whom magic came as easy as breathing. But no one ever imagined seeing fairy tale creatures right in front of their eyes. 

They were human-shaped, with four limbs and two eyes and a mouth each. They wore armor— red and bronze, emblazoned with boars like all of Gra’s regalia. They held swords and spears and axes and bows, and in that sense, were no different than any other human.

But whatever these things were, they certainly weren't human.

Their skin was mottled gray-blue, all sunken and pockmarked. Their armor was dirty and dull. Their eyes were red, dark red, glowing with something unnatural, and they stood, but they didn’t breathe. They didn’t react to their flaming sails, or the arrows raining down upon them. They only stood, and stared; bodies without life. 

Elice heard the order to brace a second too late, a second after a smaller Gra ship slammed into them. The impact shook Elice’s teeth in her head and wrenched her hand loose from the rail. Her vision spun. Her feet left the deck. Before she could even think, the ocean rushed up to meet her. 

The noise of battle immediately muted. Bubbles rushed past her. She twisted, trying to right herself, but the billowing fabric of her shirt didn’t help any. Fed up with trying, she popped the buttons and yanked it off, abandoning it to the sea. She could live with being a little unladylike if it meant not drowning. 

The sea was dark, but enough light diffused through the fog that she could see at least a little. Fish swam below in schools, keeping far below the tumultuous surface. Above her, dozens of ship hulls sliced through the waves, pulling water in their wakes. Elice couldn’t figure out which was hers from down here if she tried. 

The sea was shallower here, but it was still a long way down. Even so, she could see it through the water and the fish, covered in sand and rock and coral, with vines of seaweed forming forests. Many people would be afraid, if they found themselves thrown overboard in the middle of a naval battle, and with good reason— drowning was a thing, not to mention the multitue of creatures that could be dangerous lurking in the depths. 

Elice, though, had never been afraid of the ocean. Most children in Altea learned to swim before they learned to read, and Elice was no exception. This was the same sea she’d seen every day, growing up. The same sea where she’d toddled along the coast looking for seashells and dropping them in her mother’s lap. The same sea where her father had taught her to sail and to navigate when she was younger. The same sea that’d been as much as a fixture in her life as the castle walls, the knights, her family. At least she could be sure one of those things was still there. 

Behind her, she watched as one of the Gra ships creaked and gave in, the sea slowly pulling it down until it broke apart on the ground, trailing bubbles in its wake. More of those strange things fell as it did, pulled down in the vortex, but they didn’t thrash or struggle as a human would— only fell, the red glow fading from their eyes, turning the water behind them a sour, smoky purple. 

She scanned the sea floor. There was a ruin below her, seaweed wrapped around its columns and coral living in the crumbling marble. She spotted remains from prior shipwrecks littering the area— huge pieces of broken hulls, metal figureheads that had once presided over the waves and now watched them from below. 

It was probably a bad idea to dive down below and investigate. Naturally, Elice did anyway.

The fish scattered as she approached. The veined marble was cold beneath her touch. The place looked like some kind of temple, maybe— it was pretty small and the domed roof was in pieces in the sand, but the floor was still intact, even covered with coral as it was, and there was some kind of statue in the middle— a fisherman, carrying a net and a spear, covering his eyes with his hand as he looked out across the sea. He was also naked— Elice didn’t remember much art history, but she did vaguely remember something about Adrah-era coastline monuments, and one of the few things she remembered for sure was that naked statues were kind of the Big Thing back in Adrah’s day, and if a statue was naked, that’s probably when it was built. (Unless it was Macedonian— the Macedonians were the exceptions to a lot of things.)

Something glinted in the low light, embedded in the sand near the statue, past where the floor gave way. She’d already come down this far— she might as well have a look. 

As she got closer, she could make out that it was the hilt of a weapon. Probably a dagger or shortsword, since the hilt looked too short to be anything bigger. The metal was tarnished silver, and the grip looked like it’d been wrapped at one point, but whatever it was had long since rotted away. There was a cloudy gem embedded in the crossguard. 

Elice fit her hand around the hilt and pulled it from the sand, revealing a dagger— about twelve inches long, the same tarnished silver as the hilt, and pretty dull, which was no surprise. She shook the sand away and examined the gem in the crossguard. It was blue, the same deep blue as the sea that surrounded her. Could use a little polishing, but it was pretty. 

Another ship sank. It was the Dreadnought, once magnificent, now falling down, down into the sea’s embrace. Kind of a shame, she’d admit. Enemy or no, filled with monsters or otherwise, that Dreadnought had been a beautiful ship. 

A sharp pain in her chest reminded her that she kind of needed to breathe. She tucked the dagger in her belt and kicked off the top of one of the columns, propelling herself back up towards the surface. 

She broke through with a splash, finally taking in a breath and coughing, shaking the seawater from her eyes. She grabbed a nearby piece of flotsam to keep herself above the water while she pushed her hair out of her face and looked around. The Dreadnought sinking probably means they won, right?

“Elice!” Caeda called from the deck of a nearby ship. “You’re alive!”

“Last I checked, yeah,” Elice called back. “Hey, throw me a rope? It’s cold down here.” 

Someone tossed a rope ladder overboard. Elice grabbed it, hauling herself out of the water. Having ditched her shirt made it a little easier, but her pants and boots were still soaked, which didn’t help much. She climbed over the deck railing with a sigh of relief, leaning against it to squeeze the water from her hair. 

Hardin looked over the people assembled. “Looks like we’re all accounted for,” he said. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re a strong swimmer. Otherwise Archanea would’ve been down a Champion.” 

“I saw the Dreadnought go down,” Elice said. “Did we win?” 

“I think so,” Hardin said, clearly unsettled despite the apparent victory. “The ships have stopped coming.” 

“No thanks to you,” Nyna said sharply, materializing in front of Elice. “What were you _thinking_? You could’ve drowned!”

“Well, hello to you too, Princess Nyna,” Elice replied. “Yes, alright, not my _best_ plan, but I worked with what I had. It’s not like I could’ve caught up to the ship after I fell off. I thought it’d be a better idea to wait.” 

Nyna shook her head, which is how Elice knew she was right. “I wonder how you’ve survived this long sometimes,” she said. 

Elice snorted. “You and me both. Are we through, though?”

“We’re through,” Hardin agreed. “Provided nothing else comes to attack us. And we’re still on course, as far as he can tell. We should be able to dock soon.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Elice remarked. “I don’t know about all of you, but I’m a little tired of sailing.” Caeda handed her a towel, which she took gratefully. 

“Prince Hardin, Princess Elice,” Minerva said, nodding to both of them. “I would not get so comfortable. Strange puppet sailors aside, the fact that Gra has Dreadnoughts likely means that my brother was involved. We may well meet another before we can even dock.” 

Elice grimaced. “Oh, wonderful.”

“For them, yes,” Minerva replied. She didn’t seem to have noticed Elice’s sarcasm. “Apologies for dampening your mood, of course.” 

“It’s important that we know,” Hardin said. “Thank you, Princess Minerva.” 

“Hey, what’cha got there?” Caeda asked, nodding to the new dagger in Elice’s belt. 

Elice grinned and pulled it out. “Found it in some ruined shrine down below,” she said. “It’s pretty old, but I dunno, I kind of like it.” 

“Nice craftsmanship,” Hardin observed. “Could use some polish.” 

“Maybe it’ll be combat-worthy once I clean it up and sharpen it,” Elice said. “Hopefully I manage not to lose this one.” 

“I sure hope not,” Caeda replied. “It looks like it’ll be pretty nice when it’s fixed up. It’d be a shame to lose it after all that.”

“Here’s hoping,” Elice agreed. “For now, though, we should keep course for Gra. Jiol won’t know what hit him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next- _XXIII. Princess in Bronze_


	3. XXIII. Princess in Bronze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"... But please, please don’t do anything stupid.”_
> 
> _No promises, Elice thought. But she didn't say that. Instead, she nodded. “You can count on me,” she said. (She was surprised by how much she meant it— but then, she also kind of wasn’t.)_
> 
> In the Greatport, the League begins a journey to retake a city under siege... again.

As the ships got closer to the shore, the fog grew thinner, but not in the typical way— the sky was still overcast, gloomy and gray, and it looked as if Lifis Island was ringed in mist. Even so, Elice felt as if she should feel something familiar, returning home. She looked for the gentle slopes of hills and pastures, for groves and orchards, for streams leading down from the springs in the hills. And yet, she saw none. 

Caeda squinted through the mist. “That’s a lot of trees,” she said. “I didn’t know Gra had so many forests.”

“It doesn’t,” Elice replied. “Something weird’s going on.” 

Ogma nudged her. “Hey,” he said. “Shipwrecks.” 

He was right. The harbor was full of them— broken wood, tattered sails. Civilian and military ships alike. Blood darkened the water. These were recent— days old, at most. 

“You know what else is odd,” Hardin pointed out. “Even having broken through the blockade, I would expect another level of resistance from Gra. Trebuchets from shore, or something. It’s highly unlikely they’re admitting defeat.” 

Elice hummed and shook her head. “No, something else is going on. Let’s get closer, but stay alert. I’ve got a bad feeling.” 

As they approached the port city, lights came into view— the lighthouse in the bay, the torches in the city. Gra warships lined the ports, but they made no move to approach. In fact, as Elice was able to get a closer look, she saw they were empty. 

The city wasn’t, though. The ships moved to dock, and the first thing Elice saw waiting for them on the pier was a division of armored Gra knights, with one important-looking knight in the center. They didn’t move to attack, but they looked like they could, if they saw reason. Behind them, Elice saw a city under siege— trebuchets turned back to face the looming woods, fortifications made from sharpened logs and leftover stone, nervous civilians gathering in the streets waiting for it to be safe. 

“They’re waiting for us to make the first move,” Nyna hummed. 

“I don’t think we have to fight these guys, at least not right now,” Elice said. “I’m gonna try something. Hey,” she called. She held up a hand. “We’re not here to fight. Which of you is in charge?”

The knight in the center nodded to her. He wore Gra’s traditional armor— red and bronze, with a helm shaped like a boar’s head. It was battered and bloodstained. “I am,” he said. “Ser Samson, of her Highness Princess Sheena’s personal guard.” 

“Oh, hey, that works out,” Elice said. “So, I can’t help but notice you’re not trying to kill us.” 

“Real subtle,” Ogma muttered. 

“We have bigger problems, at the moment,” Samson replied. “But if you attempt to attack, we will respond in kind.”

“Yeah, we noticed some ships full of weird undead monsters,” Elice said. “I don’t think we have to duke it out right now. How’s about we dock, and talk it over with Sheena?” 

Samson glanced back at the city. . “Very well,” he said. “But be well aware—“ 

“Don’t bother you and you won’t bother us,” Elice guessed. “Got it.” 

The soldiers let them dock. Bystanders watched as the Archanean League disembarked— outfitted in greens and blues, gleaming armor and sharpened weapons; Prince Hardin astride his huge warhorse with his men at his side, looking like all a warrior-prince should be; Princess Minerva on her wyvern with her imposing axe, Hauteclere, gleaming black and gold, and her perpetual scowl intimidating everyone who looked at her whether she intended to or not; Princess Nyna, stern and imposing, staff at the ready, looking like the unshakeable, unflappable queen she hadn’t been raised to be but would become anyway. And by her side, Elice, her hair and trousers still a bit damp from her unplanned swim, but no matter how silly and unprofessional she thought she looked, when people saw her, they didn’t see her crooked nose or messy hair— they saw the Brazier, Naga’s own gift to humanity, the symbol that united the continent and the symbol that, time and time again, had been worn on the arm of a warrior who brought something more valuable to a people battered by war than gold could ever be— hope. 

Elice just prayed she wouldn’t let them down.

“Princess Elice,” said a new voice. Elice looked over to see Princess Sheena— not an unfamiliar sight. She wore her armor as well, matching Samson’s. She carried an impressive mace at her side, caked in dark red blood, and her own boar’s head helm under her arm, her brown hair pinned up behind her head. Elice had known Sheena since she was old enough to toddle along holding her father’s hand, and Sheena had always been the cool, strong older girl that hung out with her out of sportsmanlike obligation to her father and that Elice would never manage to really impress. Not much had changed since then.

Sheena nodded to her— professional, businesslike, her every movement a paragon example of what a young, strong warrior-queen should be. “You’ve grown.”

Elice nodded in reply. The last time Sheena saw her, she’d had long hair, a pink dress, and a surly attitude. Hopefully Sheena wouldn’t comment too much on the change. “Princess Sheena,” she replied. “I’d say it’s nice to see you again, but the circumstances really could be better.”

“Agreed,” Sheena nodded. “And, of course, Prince Hardin, Princess Nyna, Princess Minerva, and Princess Caeda. I’m honored.” 

“I’m here, too!” Maria piped up, holding Minerva’s hand. “I’m Maria! Er, Princess Maria. I like your lance, ma’am.” She curtsied politely, singlehandedly charming everyone in a ten foot radius. It was her way. 

Sheena couldn’t resist a smile. “And Princess Maria, too, of course,” she said. “When I’d heard the Archanean League had its royalty at its forefront, I’ll admit I hadn’t expected so many.” 

“We like to be part of the action,” Elice said. “Anyway, I hear you’re having an issue?” 

Sheena’s expression turned grave. “Yes, you may have noticed the forest. For those unaware, it’s not normally like this. The forest grew up over the course of two days about a week ago. The undead began shortly after.” 

“Undead?” Hardin repeated, raising an eyebrow. 

“It would line up with the old story,” Sheena said. “You see, two weeks ago, my father ventured out towards the Altean border in search of the Aum Staff, into Sitavaani Forest.”

Elice sighed. “Of course.” 

“I suspect that he found it, and breaking the seal on the forest released the staff’s power into the land,” Sheena said. “We haven’t been able to find a foothold in the onslaught. Any attempts to push into the forest have not returned. Aerial scouts have caught sight of beacons from five other cities on the island, but attempting to actually _go_ to those beacons have gone… poorly.” She grimaced. “I can’t speak for the other cities, but here, we don’t have enough clerics to maintain a light barrier around an area this large, and our fortifications won’t last forever. I know Gra and the League are enemies in the war, but…” 

“We don’t have to be,” Elice said. “How about we make a truce? You clearly need help. Archanea happens to be known for its clerics and paladins. It makes sense to me.” 

“It does,” Sheena replied. “My father would never approve, but.” She sighed. “I think he’s beyond reason. Emperor Medeus’ advisor, Archmagus Gharnef, has gotten to him— made him all sorts of wild promises that he nonetheless believes. My theory is that Gharnef wants the Aum Staff, and my father thinks that he’ll earn favor if he’s the one who obtains it.” 

“Sounds bad,” Elice summed up. “But I think we can help. Any objections?” 

Elice glanced around those assembled. No one raised any objections. She looked to Nyna, who nodded. 

“Very well, Princess Sheena,” she said. “A truce it is. Where do you need us first?”

  


The church was the strongest building in the city, and it was where an impromptu base had been set up. The pews had all been pushed aside to make space for a field hospital, where injured soldiers and civilians waited on cots and bedrolls for someone with a staff to come their way. Father Wrys and Sister Lena immediately went to lend their aid, little Maria at their heels. Battered Gra soldiers in red and bronze watched as the Archanean League assembled, joining those still able to stand, waiting for orders in the courtyard. Sheena led Elice, Hardin, Nyna, and Minerva to a map of the island weighted to a heavy table, with notes made on it in a hasty, messy hand. 

She pointed to Hygarde Greatport. “We’re here,” she began. “This little spot on Lifis Island. It seems that the rest of the island, Altea and Gra alike, has been covered in forest. From the forest, undead creatures have been spilling out. We’ve hit a lull in their assault, which has given us time to strengthen our barrier, but if there’s one thing we’ve learned, it’s that they’ll be back.” She sighed. “I fear we won’t be able to hold out much longer.”

“Lucky we’re here, then, huh?” Elice said brightly. “So, you think the forest is covering everything but the cities here?”

Sheena nodded. “Yes, Hygarde Greatport and the other five— Medu’s Fist, Talas, and Ginacae, as well as the castle towns for both Altea and Gra, Arthal and Danifor. Ginacae is closest, just a few miles north. We’ve seen beacons from all of them, which is a good sign, though needless to say I worry for the villages between.” 

“It seems to me that a good course of action would be to attempt to push through and clear a path from here to Ginacae,” Hardin suggested. “Princess Nyna, we can have the light mages support a barrier to keep the undead out.” 

“We’ll need to secure the Greatport first,” Sheena said. “But that could work. We could fan out from there and have a larger area into which to retreat, and to bring survivors.”

Nyna hummed. She was looking out one of the tall windows into the city. “Do you have an observatory in this city?” she asked. “Perhaps one atop a tower?”

“We do. Why?”

“Ah, excellent.” Nyna rubbed her hands together. Elice could see the gears in her head turning. “Linde?” 

Linde materialized two steps away. “Lady Nyna?” 

Nyna motioned her over and pointed to the center of Hygarde Greatport. “If securing the city is what we need to do, then what would be most efficient is to use the observatory as a magical focus. It makes it far easier to distribute energy across a large area, sort of like how my brother used to use the observatory in Pales to project light shows. Linde, I’ll need you to go to the Hygarde Magus Tower and cast a warding spell across the whole area, as wide as you can. Knowing you, that should weaken or neutralize all the undead for long enough the armies can deal with it, and keep us protected for a while."

Linde didn’t even blink. “Of course,” she said. “I can do that. When do we leave?”

“Soon,” Sheena promised. “But—“ 

Alarm bells clanged, echoing through the city. Sheena grimaced and put her helmet on. “Okay, _not_ soon,” she said. “More like now. Soldiers! Anyone who can still fight, get back into positions! Defend the civilians! Work with the Archanean League!”

“I’ll stay here, as an extra layer of protection for the church,” Nyna suggested. “Princess Minerva, I need you in the skies with the Doves and your Whitewings, and Princess Caeda as well.”

“As you say, Princess Nyna.”

“Prince Hardin, you’re the vanguard. Keep the undead busy while the lighter soldiers pick them off from the sides.”

“Consider it done.”

She turned to Elice. “Princess Elice, can you take Linde? She’ll need protection. But please, _please_ don’t do anything stupid.”

_No promises_ , Elice thought. But she didn't say that. Instead, she nodded. “You can count on me,” she said. (She was surprised by how much she meant it— but then, she also kind of wasn’t.)

Sheena struck a stone column with the pommel of her mace. “Soldiers!” she called. “Forward!”

The Gra soldiers shouted in unison, following Sheena into the fray. 

Elice was about to join them, but Nyna’s hand on her arm stopped her. “Hold a moment,” she said.

“What can your humble Champion do for you, your highness?” Elice asked, bowing with a flourish. It was foolish to joke around right then, but she was glad she did— the levity brought a little smile to Nyna’s face. 

Nyna chewed on her words for a bit. If Elice didn’t know better, she’d say she looked nervous. “Try not to engage in conflict if you don’t need to,” she said. “Keep Linde safe— she’s a good friend, and she acts above it all, but she’s still not much more than a child. And as for you…”

“I know, I know,” Elice promised. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Not just that,” Nyna said. “Um… your hair.” 

Elice frowned. “What about it?”

“It’s gotten long,” Nyna said. She was right— it brushed Elice’s shoulders, and her bangs had grown out. “Would you let me cut it, sometime, when we have a moment?”

Elice wondered, for a moment, why she’d chosen now to ask. She shrugged. “Yeah, sure,” she said. “What the hell. I liked it better short, anyway, and I bet you’ll do a better job than I did.” 

“You _do_ have to survive for that,” Nyna reminded her. “So. Try to do that.” 

Elice gave her a two-fingered salute. “Hey, don’t worry about me,” she said. “I’m not gonna leave you behind anytime soon, not if I have anything to say about it.”

Nyna let her go. She turned and waved, then cracked her neck and followed Sheena and Hardin into battle. 

Behind her, where she couldn’t see, Nyna let her hands drop. She busied them with fixing her jacket, so no one could see them tremble.

  


Across Hygarde Greatport, the battle raged. Civilians found shelter in cellars and warehouses, boarding up their doors and windows. Undead shambled, uninterested in dead animals people tossed out, searching solely for human life. The soldiers kept them busy enough. When they died, they melted into purple mush and smoke, reeking of sulfur. Elice and Linde, using their higher speed and lighter armor to their advantage, darted around active battles on the way to the observatory. 

A pair of undead lunged into the path. Elice cursed and smacked one in the head with the Brazier, then prepared to stab the other, but she didn’t need to. A giant wyvern swooped overhead, picked up both undead in its giant talons, and then dropped them from fifty feet. 

Well, that was one way to get rid of them. “Thanks!” Elice yelled to Minerva as she banked left, turning back around. Minerva waved her hand in acknowledgement. 

Elice’s chest burned. She ducked inside a warehouse, Linde on her heels, and took a moment to catch her breath. She looked back to Linde. Linde had her jaw clenched and her hands gripping her battered tome. She had the same look on her face as she did when she was trying to win that chariot race— Elice didn’t know Linde very well at this point, but was pretty sure this was a good thing. Or maybe that was just the intensity with which Linde went about everyday life. Linde was friends with Nyna— it could’ve been either.

Elice cursed and slammed them both against a wall, holding her arm in front of Linde as Jagen charged through, impaling several undead on the end of his lance. 

“Sorry about that,” she told Linde. 

Linde shook her head. “I would’ve died otherwise,” she said nonchalantly. “I need to, you know, not be in order to kill Gharnef eventually. So it’s fine.” 

Elice nodded. “Huh.” She slammed an undead in the face with her shield and kicked it aside. “Gharnef, Archsage of Khaedin, ally of Emperor Medeus? _That_ Gharnef?”

Linde looked at her like she was an idiot, which was fair. “Obviously. How many other Gharnefs are there?”

Elice held up her hands defensively. “Maybe it’s a common name in Khaedin, I don’t know,” she said. “So why do you want to kill him?” She ducked aside so Linde could blast a hole in the head of another undead, that had been about to bite Elice. 

“He killed my father,” Linde shrugged. “You know. Standard revenge story stuff. I’m gonna kill him or die trying.” 

Elice nodded in approval. “He kidnapped my brother,” she said. “So I guess we’ve both got reason to kill him.” 

“Any reason is good reason if you ask me,” Linde agreed. “I’ve never liked him. He’s always been so creepy. Always slinking around the arcane libraries. Nothing good ever comes of fiddling with ancient and forbidden magic. That stuff is forbidden for a _reason!”_ She punctuated it with another beam of light through an undead horse. 

Someone shouted “Incoming!” A split second later, an orb of magic energy hit the road with enough force that if Elice hadn’t been standing firm, she would’ve been blown off her feet. As it was, burning corpse parts flew into the air and splatted against the Brazier. A crater remained where it had been. 

Elice lowered her shield. There was no sign of charring like fire magic would leave, and no lingering static or smell of ozone. Wind magic, then— must be Merric’s doing. 

“Well, you won’t see me stopping you from killing him,” Elice said, as they approached the doors to the tower. 

Linde frowned, pausing in the doorway. “I thought you might want to,” she said. “I mean, he kidnapped your brother and stuff.”

Elice shrugged. “Sure, but I’m gonna rescue him, so it’s fine. You can have Gharnef all to yourself. Think of it as me paying you back, for beating you in that chariot race.” 

Linde cracked a smile. “Alright. Cool.” 

There were no undead in the tower. The doors swung shut behind them with a heavy clunk. The dark brick walls seemed to stretch up, up, up for miles, with a spiral staircase reaching up into the distance, lit by orange sconces that lit up as Linde passed. A thousand doors lined the stairway. Linde’s shoes creaked against the boards. 

“Come on,” she called from the second floor. “Hurry up!”

Elice snapped herself out of it. “Yeah, got it. Right behind you.”

As the stairs wound higher, Elice caught glimpses of the city out the wire-glass windows. Smoke billowed from places where magic clashed. The trees loomed ominously past the city gates, seeming to swallow up anything the siege engines fired at them. Undead poured through seemingly without end, and the city alarm bells clanged on and on. Elice found it hard to believe that one spell would help at all, in the face of something so big.

“It’s not a permanent thing,” Linde said, as if reading Elice’s mind. “The observatory up at the top will act as a focus for my spell, enabling it to cover a larger area. A warding spell is strongest at the boundaries, so it might be good enough to vaporize any undead over there, making things easier on Princess Sheena and Prince Hardin, not to mention keeping out the next waves of undead. The undead already in the city will be weakened, cut off from support. Like a lot of summoned monsters, their strength is in numbers, so if we can isolate them, they’ll be easier to deal with.” 

“How are you talking so fast and running at the same time?” Elice marveled. 

“Mages train to be able to keep enough breath to cast verbal-component spells in tough environments, like mountaintops and things,” Linde explained. “Ask Merric sometime, he can do it, too.”

“Huh.” Go figure. “And I thought it was just because he talked so much.” 

When they reached the top, Elice had to take a moment to catch her breath— and not because of the altitude. Even under siege, Lifis Island was a sight. Elice had seen this view before, without the forest, and it made her heart ache how vividly she could recall it. She remembered the horizon where the sky and the sea met, one shade of blue becoming another. She remembered the gently-rolling hills, the fields in shades of yellow and green, the dark forests dotting the landscape. She remembered Altea Castle in the distance, that her father pointed out to her when they’d come up here when she was small. 

Now, it was all forest, with occasional bright blue beacons piercing through the canopy. An identical beam shot up from the middle of the observatory, telling anyone who saw it: _we’re not out yet._

Linde took a breath, putting her hands on the huge crystalline focus in the center. “ _Edu laia garucaeanna,_ ” she mumbled. “ _Edu laia garucaeanna. Edu laia garucaeanna._ ” Again and again, as her hands glowed with white-gold light. She said it nine times, and then, the final time, it took. 

A wave of raw energy blasted out from the focus, spreading over the city. It was blinding, throwing spots over Elice’s vision. When she rubbed her eyes and her vision returned, a huge bubble spanned the entire city in a sphere, warding right up to where the forest began. If she looked through her spyglass, she could see undead writhing and burning at the boundary, and fleeing back into the forest with their legs and arms dissolving. 

Linde wavered and wiped her bloody nose on her shoulder. “I’m okay,” she promised. “I’ll hold the spell for as long as I can.” 

“If you’re sure,” Elice said hesitantly. 

Footsteps on the stairs. Hardin was the first to appear, looking relieved. “The ward worked,” he said. “The armies are picking off the stragglers now.” 

Sheena was next. “Good job,” she said approvingly.

Elice rubbed the back of her neck. “Linde did all the work,” she said. 

“It’s true,” Linde agreed. “I’m the one casting the spell.” 

Elice looked out the observatory window and caught a glimpse of Caeda, Minerva, and the Whitewings at work, getting rid of the remnants of the undead armies. She was glad they’d all made it through alright, as had Hardin and Sheena. But someone was missing.

“Where’s—“ she began.

“Right here,” Nyna said, the last one up the stairs. She nodded her approval to Linde, who beamed as bright as her light magic spells. “Excellent. This will keep the city safe for a while. Linde, you and the other mages will take shifts keeping the wards up.” 

“I can do it,” Linde insisted. “I’ve got Mana Herb tea in my bag, I can go all night.” 

“ _Linde_ ,” Nyna said sternly.

“Yes, Lady Nyna.”

“We’re not out of the woods yet,” Sheena said grimly. “First we need to go, well, into the woods.” 

Elice grimaced. “Not promising,” she admitted. “But if your dad really did go into Sitavaani, then I guess someone has to try and put the staff back where it belongs.” 

Hardin looked skeptical. “Does one staff really have that much power over a whole island?” he said. 

“According to legend, at least,” Sheena said. “Which is really all we have to go on. It seems that legend is closer to fact than we may have thought. At the very least, the part about Sitavaani being protected by spirits of the undead is correct. We ought to assume that the rest is correct, as well.” 

“So, then, if we put the staff back, the forest will go back to the way it was, and we’ll save Lifis island,” Elice summed up. “Sounds easy enough. I’ll go.”

“You should bring people with you,” Sheena advised. “Larger groups are more likely to get lost, but going alone would be unwise.” 

Elice shrugged. “No problem. I’ll take a squad into the forest, find the staff, clear paths to the other cities, and eventually put the staff back and fix everything and save the island and shit. When I’m done, I expect a feast in my name with women, wine, and song.” 

“Why not demand a parade, while you’re at it,” Hardin commented. 

“Ooh, good idea!”

“Save the island first,” Sheena advised. “Then we’ll see about your blackjack and hookers.”

“There’s just one thing I’m a little unclear on,” Nyna asked. “What is all this about a curse?” 

Sheena and Elice looked at each other. Sheena let Elice take the floor.

“Well, you see, a long time ago…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: _XXIV. The Legend of Aum_
> 
> a note: 'sitavaani' in my archanean language that i made is a contraction of _sita verasaani_ , _sita_ meaning monster and _verasaani_ meaning forest. so this place is literally called "the monster forest forest." linde's spell also literally translates to "please protect the city." ive put hours of work into this language, i'm gonna fuckin talk about it


	4. XXIV. The Legend of Aum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Through the long, agonizing nights, Iora would pray to Naga for her blessing, to save at least one victim. But when her prayers went unanswered, Iora changed her prayer— if she could not save the sick, then she prayed, with all her heart, for some other solution._
> 
> _“Naga, I beg of you,” she said, standing in front of her home as the dead and dying littered the streets, looking to the clouds. “Help me save them. Show me you haven’t forsaken us. Please, Naga, show compassion for the humans that you love, who love you so.”_
> 
> _“Well, I am not Naga,” said someone. “But I may be able to help.”_
> 
> A story from the past, brought into the present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> telling stories in mythical storybook form is way easier than in like normal person form

Before Altea was Altea, there was an island they called Lifis. They say that it was one of Adrah’s favorite islands, and he named it in honor of one of his mortal ancestors— the one who had made love to his native god, Yudu, and produced a line of god-blooded heroes. He said that the name would ensure that the fertile hills and fields of the island would bear fruit and grain, and sustain animals for generations to come. And so Lifis grew, a favored suzerain of the Empire, Adrah’s pride and joy. 

The people of Lifis grew hale and hearty, fishing, growing grain, and raising goats. In this Arcadian paradise, there was a forest village called Aum, and in this village lived a woman named Iora. 

Iora was an herbalist and a doctor, much beloved by the town. She made poultices for aches and pains, and used her grasp of healing magic to mend scrapes and broken bones. She’d delivered many of their babies, and provided those too sick or injured to survive a quick, painless death. Her elderly parents knew that they would be cared for in their senesence. Her four children played freely, knowing that their mother would fix up any of their bumps and bruises. And when her husband was kicked in the jaw by a horse, he was unafraid, for he had complete faith in his wife’s medical skills. To Aum, Iora wasn’t just a doctor— she was an angel, a savior almost as much as Naga herself. 

In the Archanean Imperial Year 276, a plague swept through the island, killing hundreds, thousands. It reached Aum, and took anyone it could— the old, the young, the healthy, the proud. It took Iora’s parents, as well as her husband and her three oldest children.

In her grief, Iora threw herself into her work, fighting twice as hard as any doctor to find a cure for the plague to save her youngest child. And yet, the piles of bodies upon the pyres only grew larger as Iora could barely keep up with the death toll. Soon her supplies were exhausted and her healing hands smoldered with magic fatigue, but she could not stop. She _would_ not stop, or the grief would catch her. 

Through the long, agonizing nights, Iora would pray to Naga for her blessing, to save at least one victim. But when her prayers went unanswered, Iora changed her prayer— if she could not save the sick, then she prayed, with all her heart, for some other solution. 

“Naga, I beg of you,” she said, standing in front of her home as the dead and dying littered the streets, looking to the clouds. “Help me save them. Show me you haven’t forsaken us. Please, Naga, show compassion for the humans that you love, who love you so.” 

“Well, I am not Naga,” said someone. “But I may be able to help.”

Astonished, Iora looked to the stranger. She was a young woman with red hair and pink eyes that glimmered like lamplight. 

“A foreigner?” she said. “How? Who are you?”

“My name is Anae,” said the stranger. “I am from a land far away, and I have an answer to your problem, if you choose to accept it.” 

“Please, help me, then,” Iora said. “I’ll pay any cost, no matter how steep.” 

Anae smiled. “There is a spring atop a mountain east of the Holy City,” she said. “You will find it where rainclouds part, and where the sunshine casts a spectrum of colors through the mist. Bring with you a bottle of wine, a dagger of gold, and the branch of an olive tree, and I will meet you there. But they must be of exquisite quality— only fine wine, pure gold, and young, healthy wood will do!” 

Iora fell to her knees. “Thank you,” she said. “Yes, I will do as you say. Anything.” 

“Oh, my dear woman,” Anae said, resting a hand upon her head. “I know you will.” 

And as quickly as she appeared, Anae had vanished. 

Iora set to work. She set out on a journey to the spring east of the Holy City, leaving behind the only home she’d ever known. She used all her money to pay for a bottle of the finest wine she could get from a brewer, traded all her jewelry for a dagger of gold, and searched through a grove for hours to find a tree that would suit. When she finally collected all the items, she made the journey to the spring, where the rainclouds parted, and the sunshine spread colors through the mist. 

“Mama is leaving, little one,” she told her son Borelas, sick in bed, and tended to by Iora’s apprentice. “But I’ll come back, and you will be well again.” 

“Please come back soon, Mama,” he said. Borelas was ten, and was the littlest of all his siblings, but perhaps because of that, he was also the stubbornest. But even stubborn little Borelas could not outlast a plague that killed all it touched. “I will light a candle in the window, so you can find your way back.”

Iora tucked him in and kissed his forehead. “Thank you, little one,” she said. “I will be home soon. I promise.” 

Determined to keep her promise, Iora left for the spring. The journey took months and months, but she remained determined, thinking of Borelas and the candle in the window. She finally found Anae again at the base of the mountain. 

Anae clapped her hands. “You made it!” she said. “Wonderful! Do you have what I asked for?”

Iora held out the wine, dagger, and branch. Anae looked at them, appraising their quality. She nodded.

“Yes, these will do just fine,” she decided. “Come with me, to the summit.”

The summit was cold, but the spring rested in the center of the peak, surrounded by mist. The water glimmered a brilliant pale green, with pinks and yellows and blues glinting off its surface. It looked almost as if the light was spilling out of it, rather than the opposite. Iora wanted to reach out and touch it, but Anae slapped her hand away.

“Not before the payment!” she hissed. “Slice the skin of wine with the dagger, and hold it over the spring.” 

Iora did so. The wine, a rich, dark red, poured into the spring, jarring against the water. Clouds of steam billowed up where it touched. Despite it being dark, the water absorbed the wine, remaining as shining and pale as it had been before. When not a drop remained, Iora looked to Anae for the next step. 

“Take the branch in both hands,” Anae said. “Dunk it into the spring, and hold it there.” 

Iora did so. The branch was thick and buoyant, but Iora held it stubbornly, the bark digging into her palms. She felt pain, but ignored it. 

“And now?” she asked. 

Before her, the clouds gathered into the shape of a dragon with pale yellow and emerald green scales, tinged with pearly pink. The dragon then became a beautiful woman, tall and elegant, with long, green hair, green wings, a long tail, and a pale pink gown that seemed to melt into the steam. 

“I am Naga,” she said, in her voice, the Voice That Told a Thousand Stories. “Teller of Tales, Giver of Gifts. It is because of me that you stand before me today, intelligent and insightful. You offer me wine with the taste of gold, and hold a sacred branch beneath the waters of the Spring of Light. Now, my child.” She looked at Iora with eyes that had seen centuries. “What is it you require of me?”

Iora was dumbstruck, but she forced her mouth to say, “O Great Naga, Teller of Tales, Giver of Gifts— I am Iora, a doctor. A plague has stolen my family from me, and thousands of others. Lifis Island teeters at the cusp of collapse. All that remains is my youngest son, Borelas, and he could die at any minute. The village of Aum calls me a doctor, and yet, I haven’t been able to save one villager from the plague. Please, Great Naga— please, teach me a way to save them.” 

She bowed her head. She wished so hard her heart ached, and her hands, beneath the water’s surface, burned. 

“Please, O Great Naga,” Iora whispered. “Please, bring them back.” 

“Come into the spring,” Naga said, and yet she sounded different, as if she was speaking from behind her, as well. “The answer you seek will be there.” 

Iora felt a sudden chill. She tried to move away, but a pair of hands thrust her beneath the water’s surface, stealing her breath and blinding her in the bright water of the Spring of Light. She thrashed and fought, and tried to let go of her branch to fight her assailant, but her skin was stuck to the bark. The pain became inense, the light blinding. She clenched her jaw and waited for the end. 

But her end did not come. All at once, the pain ceased, and the light went dark. Iora opened her eyes, and she was standing before her house, with a candle, burned down to the stub, guttering in the dirty window. 

Heedless of whatever force brought her there, Iora flung open the door and saw her apprentice at her son’s bedside. She shoved him aside to go to Borelas, clutching his face and frantically checking him. He was dreadfully pale, paler than he had been, and so, so still. 

Her apprentice shook his head. “He died just minutes ago,” he said. “He is in Naga’s arms now. May his name adorn the stars.” 

Iora swallowed. “No,” she said. “No, I know what to do.” 

Her apprentice frowned. “Doctor?”

Iora stood, holding her branch in both hands. It had grown long and heavy, a gleaming gem of light in its center. Into its wood were three letters, sunken in as if burned by holy fire: _A U M_. Iora’s hometown, the place she loved more than anything else— the place for which she’d made her journey.

A blinding, searing light grew from the staff’s focus, spreading through the room, the house, the town itself. It hurt horribly, but Iora stood firm. She had traveled across Archanea for this— to save her son, to save her town. She would not cave to anything so foolish as pain, not when she had already come so far. She would not cave. She would heal. 

She heard voices. “Little lamb,” said her parents. “My love,” said her husband. And “Mother, Mother,” said her older children. People called her name in joy, figures in the light reaching out to her, their sicknesses healed, their lives returned. “Mama!” Borelas cried, running forward to embrace her. 

A strangled scream cut through the air. Blood splattered across her front, and the brightness dropped away. 

Borelas was moving, but he was not alive. He had his hands in the apprentice’s shirt, and had bitten into his neck. Blood sprayed over his ashen features, his nightshirt, the bedcovers. Iora stood, frozen in horror, as her beloved youngest child devoured the man, spitting out shreds of his apron and a chewed, mangled sandal. 

This was not her son. This was a monster. 

Borelas— the thing that was once Borelas— opened his mouth and screamed. 

The scream echoed through the village, and more joined it. More people, screaming as if they were being set ablaze, rising from their resting places and sinking their teeth into the first breathing body they found. In minutes, all of Aum was a walking graveyard of risen dead. 

They flocked to Iora, and Iora waited for death— if this is what her magic had wrought, then it was the fate she deserved. But even more cruelly, they did not devour her— they stood, waiting for orders. Iora realized with horror that she was now the mistress of an army of the dead. 

“So you’ve learned,” said Anae. “Life cannot be returned to the world once taken. The _Ani_ is a cycle, but a cycle must be completed before it begins anew. It is foolish to seek a reunion with your loved ones in the form that you know— you return to them when their bodies return to the earth, when the earth feeds the plants, when the plants feed the livestock, when the livestock feeds an expecting parent who brings new life into the world once more. But you sought to push against the current. And so, these creatures were born.” 

Iora shook her head. “I never wanted this,” she said. “I only wanted to save them! To stop the sickness!”

“But was that what you _really_ wanted?” Anae said. “Did you truly act out of the goodness of your heart? Your true desire was for your family to return to you, and so they have.” 

“Naga!” Iora cried. “You’ve forsaken me! You’ve led me to ruin!” 

“Oh, dear woman,” Anae said, shaking her head. “Naga didn’t even hear you. Your prayer reached _me_. And now that I’ve granted your wish, you must pay the price. After all…” she grinned with inhuman teeth. “You said you would pay anything.” 

Consumed with despair, Iora saw one last way to make things right. She shoved her staff into the ground. The ground cracked and fissured from that point, sending shockwaves through the earth. 

“The power of Aum is a power none should know,” she said, pouring her magic into the staff. “To control _Ani_ , the cycle of life and death, is too great for mortal hands. O, Naga, if there remains any mercy in you— lock away this staff so none in the future use its power.”

“You think a _prayer_ will save you?” Anae taunted. “Prayer got you into this mess!”

“You are an evil creature,” Iora said to Anae. “I am just a mortal, and I cannot kill you in a way that matters. And so, instead, with my own blood, I curse you— I curse you and all your descendants. You will know family, but it will be a twisted sort, a family where love is possession and possession is love, where the only language you truly understand will be to buy and sell. Your dynasty will last millennia, but you will never know the community and love that humans have. You will live on the fringes, in a place where time has no meaning, doomed to obscurity and urban legend. Your descendants will travel the world and meet thousands of people, and yet will know none. You will encounter love, but it will pull you apart. And you, the Eldest, will never once know how it feels to truly love and to truly be loved, for as long as I remain in the _Ani_. For as long as the _Ani_ moves and breathes.” 

The spell sapped her life force, rumbling through the ground. The staff sprouted roots and branches, slowly engulfing Iora. A shadow spread across the town. The undead groaned in confusion as their flesh became bark, as their fingers spread to become branches and twigs. A forest grew up around Anae, turning the village of corpses into a new place where life could bloom and grow. In doing so, Iora’s life became the forest, and the trees forgot they were ever corpses. The forest went still. 

Anae snorted. “Lovely show,” she said. “But foolish nonetheless.” She kicked at Iora’s root. “Can a mere human curse a god?” 

“No,” said a new voice. Anae froze. “But I can.” 

Anae turned. Naga stood, resplendant and eternal and very, very angry. 

“Oh, please,” Anae said. “You’re no god, either!”

“Nor are you,” Naga said. “You so easily forget that our power comes from humans who believe in our power. And so, I am your equal.” 

“You can’t kill me,” Anae said. 

“No,” Naga agreed. “I possess not the powers of making and unmaking. But a curse, dear Anae, is neither.” 

Anae swallowed. “Ah.” 

“The healer cursed you with her final spell,” Naga said. “And I speak it into existence. Divine Trickster, _Haalanaea_ — begone.” 

And so Anae left, cursed to obscurity, and the forest remained undisturbed. 

Oh, people have looked for the staff— rumors of its power of reanimating the dead escaped the island, and even reached the ears of the Emperor himself. But while legend placed it in this very forest, none were able to reach it. For Iora’s curse remains to this day, and it’s so deep and dark that few have made it out alive, and none at all have managed to retrieve the staff. 

It’s said, even now, that Iora’s spirit took hold so deeply in the forest, that the forest itself has a will of its own. It knows when people enter it, and if it senses ill intent, then it ensures that they, too, will never leave. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: _XXV. White Wings_


	5. XXV. White Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The roar of battle filled her ears. Elice sprinted through the streets of Ginacae with the Brazier gleaming on her arm, jumping between what would’ve been the final blow to a downed pegasus knight. She slammed the undead aside and sunk her dagger into its chest until it groaned and dissolved, then wiped off the muck on her trousers and turned to the soldier. She stared, wide-eyed, until she offered her hand._
> 
> _“The League is here to help,” she said. “Find Princess Sheena. We won’t let these things win.”_
> 
> The League finds a new battle in Ginacae, but it's not that simple.

It got very dark very fast once the group entered the forest. Grey mist seeped in where the sunlight should be, turning everything matte. The air was chilly and damp, like seaside mornings in Altea. The lanterns barely cut through the gloom. Even the gentle warmth of the Brazier on Elice’s arm did little to keep the chill at bay. 

Elice and Sheena were leading the push into the forest while Hardin, Minerva, and Sheena’s knight, Samson, kept a hold on the Greatport. As they ventured in, Nyna took charge of setting up warding lanterns along the road. The way she’d explained it was that the warding magic connected itself to the barrier spell Linde and the other mages were holding over the city, and when they cast the barrier over Ginacae, the wards along the road would all strengthen themselves as well. Elice didn’t fully understand the science behind it, but it made sense. She figured that Nyna knew what she was doing. 

Sheena held her lantern closer to her map. The forest was thick and had grown up overnight, magically, but it had only grown where it was able to take root— plowed fields, packed dirt, and cobblestone stopped it in its tracks, but meadows and plains didn’t. Even so, the fog made it harder to see, limiting their speed and giving the forest an otherworldly air, like they were somewhere they shouldn’t be. 

“We’re near the outskirts of Ginacae,” Sheena said, looking from the map to the road ahead. “There’s our landmark.” She nodded to a crumbling, mossy pillar that stuck out like a sore thumb in the forest lining the road. Someone had put a fence around it with a metal sign, presumably to keep it from being defaced, but it hadn’t helped much. Carved graffiti read things like _LG+AM 4EVER, MARKUS LOST AT HANDBALL,_ and _EMP ADRAH WAS HERE & HE POLISHED MY LONGSWORD_. It was reassuring to Elice to know that people have always been people. 

Elice squinted at the sky through the mist. “I don’t see the beacon,” she said. “Must be the mist.” 

“I hope the city is still standing,” Sheena admitted. “The spell only lasts as long as the caster.” 

“So the longer we take, the lower the chances of us connecting all the cities,” Elice guessed. Sheena nodded. “Great. No pressure or anything.” 

Sheena chuckled humorlessly as they moved on. “Be on your guard,” she said. “This isn’t a normal expedition. Who knows what awaits us in Ginacae?” 

Elice cracked her neck. “No big deal,” she said. “I mean, we broke through an Imperial siege with a couple dozen people and a good bluff. We retook Pales, the impenetrable city, from the outside. Some trees will be a walk in the park.” 

Sheena raised an eyebrow. “Cockiness won’t help you here, Princess Elice. I had expected you understood that. Did I see your façade of confidence and assume it was competency?” 

Elice’s confidence flagged. “Hey, now—“ 

“Princess Elice is _perfectly_ capable,” Nyna spoke up, cutting off Elice’s weak defense before she could figure out what it even was. “I would not have trusted the Brazier to her if I did not have complete faith in her abilities. If you’re going to doubt anyone’s competency, then it would have to be mine. Do you doubt me, Princess Sheena?” 

Nyna had that stern, icy kind of air about her that Elice had noticed when they first met, staring down Sheena like she was daring her to try something. Elice knew by then that Nyna did not take kindly to her abilities being doubted and would rather eat glass than give anyone cause to do so, but something about how she phrased what she said to Sheena gave Elice pause— _If you’re going to doubt anyone’s competency, then it would have to be mine._

_Hers_ , not Elice’s. 

She would let herself be doubted, be questioned, be underestimated— 

For _Elice_. 

Sheena backed off. “Of course not, Princess Nyna,” she said. “I apologize, Princess Elice, for my rudeness.” 

Elice rubbed the back of her neck, a little embarrassed. “Don’t worry about it.” 

Sheena nodded. “Sound off,” she called to the army. As the various groups shouted their attendance, Elice looked to Nyna. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said. “She’s got a point. I could stand to be a little less flippant about things. You’ve said as much to me, too.” 

“Well, perhaps, but,” Nyna pursed her lips. “Princess Sheena doesn’t know you. That is to say, she hasn’t seen how skilled you truly are. You _do_ go about things with an irreverent cockiness, but it’s foolish to point that out without having seen your true capabilities. To say so without being familiar with you and your skill is— is presumptive. She has no right to say that as if she knows you.” 

Elice chuckled. “You’ve got a funny way of showing your friendship, Princess Nyna,” she said. “But thank you. I appreciate it.” 

“Wait, hold on a second,” Jeorge requested. In two swift movements, he’d climbed up and stood on the back of Midia’s saddle, keeping purchase with a hand on her pauldron. (The fact that Midia barely reacted except to roll her eyes told Elice that this had happened many times before.) He squinted into the mist. “Hey, Tomas, you see what I see?” 

Tomas nodded grimly. “Smoke in the mist,” he said. “The city’s in trouble.” 

That put a hold on Elice and Nyna’s conversation. “We should hurry,” Elice suggested, drawing her dagger. “No telling how long they’ll last without us.” 

  


Ginacae had never been the largest of Gra’s cities, but it was nonetheless proud of what it’d accomplished. The area was home to many workshops where they worked what the country imported at the Greatport, creating fine dishware, tools, and leather goods to ship across the island. Like most of Gra’s cities, it’d started life as a fort, and had kept the walls— but at the moment, they weren’t doing much good. 

The beacon was still on, but the wards had failed, and undead were spilling into the city. They’d broken through the log barrier walls the city soldiers had put into place and begun attacking the civilians. Blood stained the cobblestone streets, spilling from bodies no one had moved. A scattered division of pegasus knights tried to help, but arrows from the undead onslaught struck down the unlucky ones and scattered the rest. As Elice watched, a line of undead clashed with a line of Gra soldiers in the plaza. Blood spilled, weapons snapped, and screams of pain rang through the streets. Then the undead turned to her. 

Sheena put her helm on and clanged her mace against her shield. “Battle positions!” she shouted over the noise. “Men and women of Gra! Show no fear!” 

She looked to Elice. Elice looked back at the rest— Alteans, Archaneans, Aurelians, Macedonians. She cracked her knuckles, cleared her throat, and shouted, in unison with Sheena, 

_“Forward!”_

It’d gotten easier for Elice to fight, since those first battles. She wasn’t sure this was a good thing. 

She’d learned, though. Her body knew how to move. She’d committed the forms she’d learned in practice to memory, and in fighting with them, ingrained them in her muscles. And in fighting with her army, she’d learned how she fit in. 

In an army, everyone has their strengths and weaknesses, but fighting together provides a network of support that makes a stronger whole. The cavalry charges forward with their superior speed, starting the battle with a forceful, unified attack. The heavy armored units march forward, pushing the enemy back. The archers fire from cover, aiming for chinks in the armor. The aerial units take a battle to a third dimension, guarding weak points from above. The infantry, slower than their cavalry counterparts but just as vital, keep enemy soldiers’ attention while the light infantry, the rogues and throatcutters, dart between battles and seek out elements that could turn the tide. The medics heal the injured and the mages, although they’re not the toughest, together cast powerful spells that can blast a hole in enemy fortifications. 

Elice wasn’t part of the cavalry like Cain or Abel, nor was she an armored bulwark like Sheena or Draug, nor a keen-eyed sniper like Jeorge, a healer like Lena, a mage like Merric, or a flier like Caeda. She wasn’t cut out to cast spells or fix wounds from the rear lines like her mother, nor was she to carry a lance and shout orders from horseback like her father. Her job was different. Her job was to bring everyone together.

The roar of battle filled her ears. Elice sprinted through the streets of Ginacae with the Brazier gleaming on her arm, jumping between what would’ve been the final blow to a downed pegasus knight. She slammed the undead aside and sunk her dagger into its chest until it groaned and dissolved, then wiped off the muck on her trousers and turned to the soldier. She stared, wide-eyed, until she offered her hand. 

“The League is here to help,” she said. “Find Princess Sheena. We won’t let these things win.” 

Nyna had told her when she’d been given the Brazier, what felt like a lifetime ago, that the Brazier was not a gift. She’d said it carried the burden of a people desperately hoping for salvation— and at the time, she’d meant Archanea, but Elice had learned that wasn’t the end of it. The entire continent was involved in one way or another. But when she helped them, she wasn’t helping save them from the Empire. When she reached out a hand to the soldiers in Gra, she wasn’t saving them from the ever-expanding ambition of Dolhr. She, and by extension the Brazier, didn’t represent some divine quest— she was a helping hand, a sign of community; a torch in the darkness telling them that someone else was still there. 

Elice’s job was to bring people together, and that’s what she would do.

With the Gra army renewed, the undead forces dwindled, until the stragglers fled back to the forest. Nyna climbed the stairs to the observatory and cast her barrier spell, re-igniting the beacon and sending a wave of warding magic all through the path, blasting away the mist until Elice saw blue sky and the distant beam of the beacon from the Greatport. People dropped their weapons and raised a cheer in relief, clasping hands with their friends and telling the civilians that the fight was over. 

Elice found Sheena at the base of the observatory, but Sheena still had her helm on and her shield up. 

“We pushed them back too easily,” she said. “I’d expected more resistance. Reinforcements, or something. I don’t know. Just not this easy a victory.” 

“Princess Sheena!” A Gra soldier called. “There’s a situation at the fort!”

Sheena frowned. “What is it, soldier?” 

His face was grave. “Your father,” he said. “He’s here.” 

  


Elice had a lot of prior expectations in mind when she thought of finally meeting King Jiol. She’d pictured an epic siege, a full-scale battle with the mights of both the Empire and the League, and a final confrontation between the two of them in the throne room. She’d pictured striking him down and pinning him to the floor, her knife to his throat, and demanding answers as to why he betrayed them. She’d pictured him begging for his life, stammering out some story about being manipulated, and she’d pictured refusing forgiveness and, instead, damning him as she let every Altean soldier in the army deal him the final blow they all knew he deserved. And when he was a bloody, mangled pulp on the floor of his throne room, she pictured turning him over and jamming her knife into his back— just like he’d done to her father. 

The sensible part of her knew that such a revenge fantasy ought to remain a fantasy. It didn’t stop her from thinking about it, though. 

This was decidedly different. Sheena charged through the fort until she came upon Jiol standing in the central training yard, his back to the entrance, holding something that Elice couldn’t see. 

“Father!” Sheena called. 

Jiol looked over his shoulder. “Princess Sheena,” he said, his voice distant. “How kind of your highness to visit.” 

Sheena stepped back as if she’d been struck. “Father?” she said. “What are you talking about?” 

“As if you don’t know?” Jiol said. He chuckled. “You know _exactly_ what I mean, dear child. Did you think your alliance with the enemy would escape my notice?” 

He turned, and pointed at Elice. Elice felt all eyes turn to her, including Sheena’s. He was holding a staff in his free hand; an old, gnarled thing made of olive wood, with a shimmery, pale green stone at one end. 

“You…” Sheena shook her head. “You’d gone into the forest. I couldn’t contact you. Undead were spilling out, and…” 

“The forest sees all,” Jiol said. “And as the heart of the forest, so do I.”

“This is crazy,” Sheena insisted. “I knew Archmagus Gharnef had gotten into your head, I knew it—“ 

“Gharnef?” Jiol interrupted. He laughed. “Gharnef didn’t do a thing! Oh, he had me tempted at first— he told me how Gra could rise to be a power on par with Archanea and the Empire, how I could stand at its helm like the admiral of a thousand ships, if I only did him just a few favors. He had me at first, I’ll admit. But telling me to retrieve the Aum staff? That was his mistake.

“That fool calls himself an Archmagus of Khaedin, but he didn’t understand the _real_ power of the Staff of Aum,” he continued. “Reviving the dead? Uncovering the secrets of the ancients?” He laughed. As he did, the light in the staff’s focus flickered and died. “Ridiculous! The real power was right here— the power of the Ani. The power of the wild!

“ _I_ am the forest now,” Jiol repeated, grinning madly. “I have the power of millennia! I have the power of a billion lives! I am the beginning and the end!”

Sheena bit her lip and held out her hands. “Father, please,” she said. “The staff must be casting some— some spell on you. Put it down, and we can talk about this. We don’t have to fight each other. We don’t have to fight the League.” 

“You want me to put the staff down?” Jiol repeats. He shrugged, and tossed it onto the ground. It rolled to a stop in front of Sheena. “There you have it. But I don’t need it anymore. I’m not a pretender, waving a staff around and acting like the king of life and death. No.” He grinned. “I am Life and Death.” 

He held out his arms. Roots burst from the ground and wrapped around his ankles, up his legs, around his torso. The sky grew dark. Mist started to churn. 

Elice grabbed Sheena’s shoulder and jostled it. “I hate to break up the family reunion,” she said. “But I think we should go, now.” 

Sheena ignored her. “Father, stop this!” she demanded. “This isn’t you! You’re not the kind of man who would— would just do what someone orders!”

“Sheena!” Elice repeated. “Leave him!” 

“But—“ Sheena protested.

Then something else happened. A javelin shot through the sky and lodged itself in Jiol. Plates of bark grew to cover it, but he still staggered, halting their growth if only for a second. “Ow!” he shouted, sounding, for a moment, human. 

The javelin’s owner, a pegasus knight on an elegant silver steed, dove in front of Elice and Sheena and scooped the staff off the ground. “That won’t last long,” she said, tossing the staff to Elice. “But I bought us some time. Move it!”

Maybe it was the commanding tone of her voice, or something else, but Sheena came to her senses. She shook her head. “Right,” she said. “We can’t fight him. Let’s go.” 

So they ran, as Jiol grew larger, and larger, becoming a monster made of bark and branches. The last thing Elice saw of him was him lifting his huge, trunklike legs from the ground, and launching himself back towards the forest’s edge. 

  


When Elice recounted the story to Hardin, she could hardly believe it herself. 

“Men becoming trees,” Hardin repeated, scratching his beard. “Don’t see that every day.” 

“Only in myths and fables,” Sheena agreed. “But in that respect, I can believe it completely.” 

“Fair,” Elice admitted. “Honestly, I’m just glad it’s over. Now Ginacae is safe, at least for the moment, and we can start preparing for the next push to Talas. Hopefully, Princess Sheena will be our ally there, too.” 

“You needn’t worry about my loyalty, Princess Elice,” Sheena said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You helped save my countrymen, and now I see that my father is beyond reason. I would be honored to have the League’s help.” 

“Good to hear,” Elice said. “Oh, Princess Sheena, did you find the leader of the Whitewing division that your father had?” 

“Right here,” said a new voice. It was the pegasus knight that’d jumped in when Jiol was turning into the tree monster— the one who’d lost her javelin. She was tall, with reddish, wind-chapped skin, and long green hair tied up behind her head. She wore black and gold armor, typical of Macedonian soldiers, but hers was more ornate and she wore a red cape as well, indicating her higher rank. She looked a little haggard, with dark shadows under her eyes, and her armor was scuffed like she hadn’t been taking much care of it. “Lieutenant-Commander Skylark, your highness.” 

“Skylark?” Elice said, raising an eyebrow. “ _Palla_ Skylark?” 

“That’s me.” 

“Princess Minerva mentioned you,” Elice told her. “And I know at least one other person who’s missed you. Caeda?” 

Caeda, a few feet away, grinned. She nudged Skylark, who’d been busy tending to her pegasus. Skylark frowned and looked up, then over. All traces of annoyance vanished from her face. She dropped her brush and took a few cautious steps, clearly reigning herself in. 

Lieutenant-Commander Skylark chuckled. “Come on, don’t try to be professional,” she chided. “I can’t _always_ be your boss.” 

Skylark looked like she was trying not to cry. “Guess so,” she said. Then she gave up on words and launched herself into her sister’s arms, not caring about banging her head on her breastplate. Over her sister’s shoulder, Skylark caught Elice’s eye and grinned— all the thanks Elice could ever want. 

Hardin chuckled. “Guess we’ll have to call them by their first names, or something,” he remarked. “That’ll be hard to get used to.” 

Maria gasped in excitement. “Palla! Palla’s back! Minerva, look!” She grabbed Minerva’s hand and tugged her over towards the two sisters. Minerva remained still, so she gave up and ran to hug Palla herself instead. Palla smiled and mussed her hair, then looked up. And there Minerva stood, slack-jawed, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. 

Palla saluted to her. “Commander,” she said. “Mission accomplished.” 

Minerva’s shoulders relaxed, like she’d set down a burden she’d been carrying for quite some time. “Palla,” she said, the relief in her voice palpable. “You’re here.” 

“I sure am,” Palla agreed. “It’s good to be home again.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next- _XXVI. Into the Labyrinth_

**Author's Note:**

> for those curious, my twitter is @detectiveryanz. follow for memes, behind-the-scenes fic junk, or just to get to know the sad little man behind the curtain.


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